


Moonfull

by felinefelicitations



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fantasy Racism, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Minor Violence, Speciesism, Werewolf Sex, comedy with feelings, look ppl r rude about werewolves, no betas we die like men, short king!Dionysus, trans!Dionysus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29840370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinefelicitations/pseuds/felinefelicitations
Summary: Even when Aresisn’twerewolf, he gets antsy about doorbells, can’tstandstrangers justbeing there, Dionysus the door--yes, Ares--there’ssomeoneat thedoor, and that increasing alarm and tension and look, babe, he’s got it, it’sfine.Ares always tries to buy everything he needs in person, and Dionysusdefinitelyknows why.
Relationships: Ares/Dionysus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 56





	Moonfull

**Author's Note:**

> big thank u to the cru for reminding me i started writing this because werewolf ares was just FUN!!!! 
> 
> this is gonna have intercrural sex with a werewolf when he's a werewolf and not a human, just in case you skipped the tags, if that squicks you goodbye see you next time
> 
> look i just really wanted something mostly funny and sweet and i've been saying wAres-wolf to myself on loop lmao

Dionysus gets asked _a lot_ if he ever fears for his life, isn’t he _worried_ that Ares is going to hurt him? Not that they _believe_ werewolves aren’t able to control themselves, but _you know_. There was that _one_ incident and don’t they have a higher violent crime rate than any _other_ group?

To which Dionysus mostly wants to ask if they’ve ever, like, _met_ a werewolf. Sometimes he does, but sometimes he really _leans in_ on getting them to explain it to him. It’s usually the same kind of people who still call transhumans fablefolk.

“Drop it,” Dionysus says.

Ares growls at him.

Honestly, Dionysus is way more worried he’s going to kill Ares than the other way around. He _just_ got that bag, it’s _nice_ , it’s great, it’s _leather_ , which okay, _okay_ , breathe. This is fine, he’s fine and definitely not mad he forgot the full moon started today and left it on the couch or that, you know, Ares currently has it between his jaws, _ruining it_ because leather might as well be catnip for werewolves.

Ares is nearly two meters tall when he’s not got that werewolf slouch, pushes a hundred seventy five kilos of muscle, fang, and claw. Dionysus, all one and a half meters of him, is sixty kilos at _best_.

Size, Dionysus is firmly convinced, is really just a mindset.

Dionysus smacks him on the nose.

Ares recoils, ears going flat against his skull. He growls again, shoulders up and starting to scrape claw over the flooring and Dionysus is _cool_ , he’s _calm_ , this is _fine_.

“Come on, Ares, there’s way better things to eat than my bag.” That he just got. "I think we even have some deer left."

Ares stops gnawing on the bag. _Finally_. It’s disgusting, covered in drool, probably unsalvageable, but Dionysus is still going to at least _try_.

“See, there ya go,” Dionysus says. He grabs the sides of Ares’ face, digs his fingers in and scruffles him properly, scratches up behind his ears and Ares flops, wraps an arm around Dionysus and sags into him, nearly knocks Dionysus off his feet because Ares is a big, big guy. Werewolf. Both, actually. “Was that so hard? Who’s a good werewolf?”

Ares gives a half hearted growl because he _hates_ being treated like a dog, but his tail is starting to wag when Dionysus digs his fingers into that one spot right behind his right ear.

“It is _definitely_ not you,” Dionysus tells him with a laugh and presses a kiss to Ares’ forehead, that little fluff of white in a sea of black fur. “You’re awful, really, man? You _know_ I just got that.”

Ares huffs, breath hot and already that pretty uniquely bad of canines everywhere, even their weird human cousins. He’s panting happy, tongue sticking out over very sharp teeth that make a lot of people uncomfortable but really, Dionysus isn’t worried at all.

“Let’s get you some food,” Dionysus says, pushing Ares’ face to get him to get up, and heads for the kitchen.

***

Probably the biggest surprise was that, yes, actually, werewolf time is really different for every werewolf. Ares gets the snout and head and limbs actually changing, goes way more _wolf_ \--he’s kind of on the extreme end, from what Dionysus knows, and likewise _tends_ to stay changed for about three days.

The _rhythm_ of his change isn’t too weird though.

“Did you—” Dionysus stops. Takes a breath. Ares does that werewolf grin, mouth loose and happy panting, tail wagging just a bit, pleased as punch with himself.

“Get it down,” Dionysus says.

Ares shakes his head, red eyes bright.

The first day is _always_ , hands down, _the worst_. Dionysus missed most of it. He’d gone out early for breakfast, got back late, and now his bag is ruined--his fault, Ares was _human_ when he’d gone out this morning, Sunday so not weird Ares was still lingering in bed, he should have put it away and not left it on the couch _but_ \--and now Ares has put Dionysus’ drink on the top of the shelf where Dionysus can’t reach it. Which Ares knows.

They’re in the basement, the workout room, the mats and weights and punching bags. Dionysus _had_ been doing pull ups, Ares safely distracted upstairs by a deer shoulder, but then he heard that door open and Ares half crash down the stairs and ever since he’s been making a pest of himself--moving weights around, messing up the towels, just making _noise_. Dionysus _had_ been ignoring him, reached for his bottle and oh look, it’s gone, who could have taken it.

(There’s a rhythm to this--that first day of the full moon is _always_ rowdy; moonfull is the werewolf term for it, and lunacy the _extremely_ impolite term. It eases off, just gotta get through this first night, but gods, is it always an adjustment.)

“Ares,” Dionysus says.

He could climb the shelf. He’s done it before, it’s been secured to the wall because he knew he is extremely familiar with being short.

Ares… not quite barks, kind of an almost bark, tail wagging again.

Dionysus could.

What he _does_ is stare Ares down. Ares stares back, stops wagging his tail, closes his mouth.

Dionysus lunges first, then they’re both tumbling across the mats. Ares is _much_ bigger than him, but that just means Dionysus has more places to grab, can take advantage of Ares not actually wanting to accidentally claw him, can wriggle out from under him. It’s _disgusting_ , there’s fur sticking to his sweat and Ares shoves his cold, wet nose directly into Dionysus’ armpit at one point, but it’s also stupidly, hilariously _fun_. Dionysus ends up on Ares’ chest laughing and trying to shove Ares’ face away just as hard as Ares is trying to lick his face.

“Stop, stop, oh my gods, you’re going to—” and there is werewolf tongue over his mouth and nose, leaving Dionysus spitting and trying to pull back, trapped by Ares’ arms wrapped around his waist. “You are so _gross_.”

Ares licks his face again.

“I hate you,” Dionysus says, still laughing, and tries pushing himself back up again. Ares just follows, so then they’re both sitting up and Dionysus ends up sliding down to his lap. Ares shoves the flat of his face against Dionysus’ cheek, rubs a bit, more fur and sweat--Dionysus wants a shower _and_ his water bottle back, now, but it’s hard to be _really_ properly pissed.

“Awful,” but Dionysus kisses the side of his snout, scratches the side of Ares’ face, and rests just a while.

He _does_ kick Ares out so he can finish his workout. It takes work to have shoulders he likes, he’s not skipping it. He _even_ manages not to laugh when he hears Ares whine at the basement door and the telltale click of a claw tapping.

By the time Dionysus gets back upstairs, Ares has gotten bored and wandered off--outside, from how the backdoor is still partially open. He’ll probably stay roaming the woods most the rest of the night, restless and moonfull, but he always comes back. Dionysus isn’t particularly worried.

(Which _technically_ not supposed to do, but it’s their land, the only people who are going to be out here really, really shouldn’t be, there’s tons of no trespassing signs out there and anyway, this is the whole reason he and Ares spent all that money building a proper place out here at the vineyards. Dionysus can’t help it if someone decides to trespass, now can he?

He is perfectly aware that probably won’t hold up in court, but that’s fine, it’s not like Ares would _actually_ assault a trespasser.

Probably.

As long as they don’t try to assault him first, really.)

***

A howl rips through the house, tears Dionysus straight out of sleep, and oh _gods_ , that package redelivery was for this morning, wasn’t it?

(Even when Ares _isn’t_ werewolf, he gets antsy about doorbells, can’t _stand_ strangers just _being there_ , Dionysus the door--yes, Ares--there’s _someone_ at the _door_ , Dionysus, and that increasing alarm and tension and look, babe, he’s got it, it’s _fine_.

Ares always tries to buy everything he needs in person, and Dionysus _definitely_ knows why.)

“I’ve got it, I’m coming, stop, stop, _stop_ ,” Dionysus says, yanking open the bedroom door with _way_ more force than he needs to because it wasn’t even closed all the way, but he has a headache and Ares is _barking_ , like he thinks Dionysus _didn’t_ already hear him the _first fucking howl_.

“ _Chill_ ,” Dionysus says, hoping the delivery guy hasn’t bolted, _fucking_ doorbells, man, absolute _worst_ invention, why doesn’t anyone just _call_ , he puts it on the packing notes _every time_ —

“I said _chill_ ,” Dionysus snarls, definitely snarls no prettying that up, grabbing Ares by the scruff of his neck and yanking him down. Ares doesn’t cave immediately-- _doorbells_ \--but he does stop barking, switching to growling in the direction of the door.

“I've _got it_ ,” Dionysus says; he yanks again, gets Ares’ eyes focused on him and then Ares is trying very hard to not make eye contact, going limp, and finally, _finally_ actually shuts up with one last little half-hearted bark.

“I’ve got it. Go chill,” Dionysus says, then lets go. Ares’ eyes flick towards the door, Dionysus makes to reach for him again, and Ares shrinks down with a whine, backs up, absolute tangle of limbs because he’s big and there’s not any easy way for him to get _shorter_ than Dionysus short of laying down but boy does he try. It’s endearing, really, makes Dionysus feel just a bit less irritated about everything.

(Werewolf time is _weird_ , Ares has tried to explain it to him once or twice. It sounds kind of like being very, very drunk: less impulse control, harder to grasp onto what people are saying, a _lot_ more instinct watering out thoughts turned soupy.

Routines help. Training, in the loosest sense of the word. Dionysus _still_ remembers how badly doorbells went the full moon he spent with Ares, before they'd established that _Dionysus_ would get the door, Ares should just play scout.)

By some miracle, the delivery guy hasn’t bolted.

“Hey, thanks for waiting, sorry about all that,” Dionysus says with a laugh as he opens the door, big and broad and like he didn’t just have to wrangle a werewolf. Totally normal.

The delivery guy mostly just looks sympathetic; must actually _know_ a werewolf or two. That always helps.

“Yeah, it’s no problem. Just need you to sign.”

Dionysus takes the pen, signs the receipt, ignores the guy looking over his shoulder at wherever Ares is no doubt still watching the door. Hopefully chilling like Dionysus told him. Hands the receipt back, the pen, gets his box, and then the delivery guy is gone and Dionysus can shut the front door.

Ares is, wonder of wonders, sitting in the corner. He’s shredded part of a blanket, what else is new, ears alert and red eyes sharp in their focus on the door, but he is _in_ the corner. Chill. Mostly chill.

Dionysus grins at him, then leaves him there to make a smoothie, maybe a bagel, and open his box.

With threat to turf thoroughly handled, Ares is half burrowed under the blankets when Dionysus comes back, snout under Dionysus' shirt from yesterday. His eyes are closed, but an ear flicks towards Dionysus as he walks over.

Dionysus drops himself next to Ares, gets cozy into his side and pets down his back.

"Thanks for the heads-up, babe," he says and watches Ares relax further, hears a single thump of tail against the floor. He leans forward, drops a little kiss to the tip of Ares' ear, and keeps stroking. "And look at you now, very chill."

Ares doesn't answer other than one hand tensing a little more where it's resting on a blanket, relaxing.

“How’s a walk sound?” Dionysus asks, thumb rubbing against fur, smoothing it down, rubbing against again.

Ares’ eyes open, ears going up, just enough tension that yeah, there’s the rest of the morning sorted.

***

“Training” a werewolf--huge emphasis on those quotes--requires remembering werewolves know what taxes are somewhere underneath millennia of _eat-sleep-fuck-repeat_ , as much as they probably don’t want to. That matters, since it means they can be reasoned with during the full moon; it’s possibly the second most important part of training, which isn’t _training_ so much as setting habits, defining roles. Definitely not obedience--werewolves aren't dogs.

They’re out, walking in the woods behind the house, nice day, bit cloudy, sun dappling through the trees all _aesthetic_. Ares keeps loping ahead and then circling back around, actually hard to spot in the shadows of the trees until he’s basically right on top of Dionysus. Dionysus is enjoying himself, thinking about the upcoming harvest, it’s been a pretty good year, which hopefully means good wines, when a bit of movement catches his attention.

A rabbit.

Dionysus pretends he didn’t see it. He definitely didn’t see it. Don’t draw attention to it, easy. Keep walking.

Next to him, Ares goes still, ears up, mouth closing.

“Don’t,” Dionysus says. “Definitely not worth it.”

Dionysus likes to think positive. He thinks about how if that rabbit just _stays still_ , it’s going to be fine, Ares is going to get bored, they’ll move on. It’ll be great. He thinks about how _wonderful_ it's going to be, if that rabbit just _stays put_.

“Ares,” Dionysus says. “Come on, man, let it go. I’ll give you an entire jar of peanut butter if you just _don’t_. Two.”

One ear flicks towards him, but Ares is still staring at that rabbit, otherwise motionless.

Here’s the most important thing about "training" a werewolf:

they're still wolves.

The rabbit bolts, Ares bolts, and Dionysus is left taking a deep, deep breath as he listens to Ares tear through the woods after that idiot rabbit that couldn’t just stay still for like, _one more minute_ that’s it, that’s all Dionysus wanted.

He heaves out a sigh, shoves his hair back, and starts to follow.

***

It actually isn’t all that bad. At least it wasn’t a deer. No full bath, just needs to wash all that gore off Ares’ muzzle.

Which is still too much bath for _some_ people.

“Ares,” Dionysus says, patient as Ares keeps his head tilted back and away, nose in the air and ears flat in distaste. “We’d be done already if you’d just cooperate. Imagine. We could be inside right now, lunch, maybe a nap. Doesn’t that sound great?”

Ares growls; Dionysus sighs.

“I tried being nice,” he tells Ares, because he did.

(It’s not like Ares hates baths normally; Ares most days of the month tolerates a shower perfectly well, even if he hates how strong most soaps and shampoos smell. Basically everything they’ve got is scentless. Dionysus misses his favourite conditioner nearly _daily_ , even years later; the things he does for love.)

Ares would, eventually, get all the blood off if Dionysus let him--that long tongue of his would lick his chops from time to time and he’d pleased huff, like it evokes the memory of the hunt itself. It might; Dionysus has no idea what actually goes through Ares’ head like this.

The _problem_ is Ares would _also_ try to shove his head onto Dionysus’ lap, use Dionysus' pants to clean off, and look, Dionysus will tolerate a _lot_ of gross for Ares, but he draws the line at having rabbit viscera rubbed into his lounge sweats.

Dionysus jumps, manages to get an arm around Ares’ neck in a decent enough hold. Ares yelps, fumbles to catch Dionysus, then he tries to recoil back as Dionysus shoves the soaking wet towel over his snout. Dionysus’ feet hit the ground, he adjusts just enough to fist his hand in fur so Ares’ can’t slip the headlock, and ignores as Ares snarls and twists because they _both_ know things will be a lot worse for Ares if he _actually_ bites or, gods, claws Dionysus.

“I _tried_ to be nice,” Dionysus tells him as Ares bites down on the towel, which great, Dionysus would prefer that to having to try and brush his teeth. He lets go of the towel while Ares worries at it, shoves Ares by the snout to check both sides of his muzzle, then sighs disappointed.

“Was that so hard, babe?” Dionysus asks.

Ares whines, muffled by the towel, still trapped half bent over in a headlock. Dionysus pets the top of his snout, smooths up to scratch between Ares’ ears.

Every time. He’d think Ares would figure out that Dionysus can grab him in a headlock eventually, that this is _always_ going to happen, but Ares’ memory of full moon time is dreamy at best, at least from what Ares has told him.

Dionysus lets go of Ares. Ares drops the towel as he rises, growls again at Dionysus, hackles up and teeth bared, starts to shove into Dionysus’ space, big enough to cast a shadow.

Dionysus flicks him in the nose; Ares caught him when he jumped.

“None of that,” he says with a laugh. “Come on, let’s figure out lunch.”

***

Feeding Ares as a werewolf is _easy_. Bones, marrow, meat and all those innards--Ares is particularly fond of intestines, and giving him a cow’s shin bone will keep him occupied for the length of time it takes him to finally crack it open. It’s a bit messy sometimes, but it’s _easy_.

It’s considerably harder to feed Ares as a _person_ , because turns out growing up in a household where they just didn’t _keep_ any of this food around means _now_ Ares wants to try basically all of it.

Like chocolate. All that fat, Ares loses his fucking mind over it, and then they end up at the hospital because he _will_ eat an entire dark chocolate cake by himself. Gods, Dionysus misses chocolate sometimes, but it’s safer just not to keep it in the house with Ares' nose.

Which, also--avoid alcohol, no caffeine no, babe, don’t care that there’s not enough caffeine in a single cup of coffee to cause you to die, no garlic, no onions, basically treat him like he has a nut allergy, no, do _not_ eat the salt like it’s candy, avoid carbs, no chicken with bones because Ares _will_ try to chew on a bone unthinkingly the way other people chew toothpicks or mints after meals and chicken bones shatter.

(Also _also_ , do not ever ever ask Ares if something has spoiled, because _turns out_ werewolves just eat rotten meat like it’s nothing and _that_ is, hands down, the most disgusting thing about Ares that Dionysus has learned _to this day_. Even above his ability to wolf down, ha, raw chicken--wolfing down _spoiled_ raw chicken and thinking that’s just _normal_.)

Ares is lazing on his back on the floor, cracking cuts of pork spine between his jaws the way other people crack nuts, shaking his head pleased from time to time when there’s an especially good crunch, while Dionysus eats leftover Chinese and drinks wine and starts paging through the new book he got, the one about historical vineyard practices. It’s comfortable, lazy, warmed by the sunlight spilling in through the window, nice to be out of the autumn chill again. He’s going to need to go grab more bones and meat out of the freezer in the basement, Ares can _eat_ , but for right now, things are real relaxed and not just Dionysus telling himself they’re relaxed. He’s got his feet shoved under Ares’ flank to keep them warm, he’s in his favourite lounge set, the wine is good, the book is good, the food is, well, it’s all right, and honestly, there’s not much else he could ask for right now.

It’s good, this.

Ares eventually finishes--he always finishes eating before Dionysus because Dionysus likes to linger over food--and sits up, nearly crushing Dionysus’ feet as his weight shifts, drapes himself half over Dionysus lap with a soft huff of air, hands careful, careful on Dionysus’ waist because those claws are nothing to sneeze at.

“Yeah, sure,” Dionysus says, finishes up the last of his wine, dog ears the page he’s on, and pats Ares’ shoulder. “Let me up.”

The corner is a pile of blankets and old shirts and a couple pillows on a futon mat, the odd chew toy that catches Ares interest when he goes shopping, set up in a corner of the living room that has a good view of the front door. It’s a place to _be_ that won’t risk the mattress getting torn or the sheets shredded or any of that stuff, nothing that Ares can feel _guilty_ about ruining when he finally shifts back.

(It’s just a safe place, an _open_ safe place because Dionysus has _objections_ to kenneling a werewolf considering all of history, just like he’d never actually collar or leash or, gods, fucking _muzzle_ Ares.)

Dionysus lets Ares get settled first, a process that involves more circles and shuffling than Dionysus really thinks necessary before Ares finally flops over onto his side, then he sits down, too. Lets Ares wrap an arm around his waist, then props his book open on Ares’ arm, rests back against him with an elbow on his side and hand stroking back and forth against a patch of Ares’ stomach. Ares all but curls around him, snuffs at his waist before settling for good. Breathes slow and even, a heavy soft warmth all creature comfort, just being together while Ares falls into a doze--just that occasional twitch of an ear, little sleep sounds as he dozes deeper into dream.

It’s cozy, it’s warm, and eventually, Dionysus puts the book away, gentle pushes at Ares to get him to move a bit, then lays down too, surrounded by fur and heat and gentle, gentle afternoon sleep.

***

Dionysus wakes up to one of Ares’ legs thrown over his and a _very_ insistent erection leaking sloppy against the curve of his ass, to little whines and whimpers as Ares pants, hands shoved up under Dionysus’ shirt and claws pricking skin, and does _not_ groan.

Werewolf precome is a _pain_ to get out of clothes; if these weren’t his favourite sweats he’d just toss them, but they _are_. He really only has himself to blame, he _knows_ how Ares gets after a proper nap.

It’s definitely sunset now, the light through the windows red and orange and sliding up the walls towards the ceilings as the sun makes its exit for the day.

“Morning, babe,” Dionysus says, reaches a hand up to scruff Ares’ jaw; Ares stills with a whine so deep it must yank something in his chest, then shoves his head down to rub against the side of Dionysus’ face with another twitch up of his hips. Gods, Ares’ dick is huge. Dionysus loves it, but he’s just woken up, still sleep lazy, not feeling up to all the work he’d need to actually loosen up enough because getting Ares’ dick in him is an _event_. There’s maybe another day of this, it might still happen, just not right now.

“Here, let me,” Dionysus starts, stops petting Ares’ face and has to wriggle to slide his sweats down a bit. It’s an awkward bit of fumbling before Ares’ dick slides between his thighs, all that slick heat gliding against skin and the warm friction pooling damp between Dionysus’ legs, and yeah, okay, that feels nice, especially when Ares bottoms out and there’s all that soft fur against his ass. It’s not quite enough to get Dionysus really going, but it makes Ares happy, or not happy but _satisfied_ as Dionysus squeezes his thighs and that high-pitched whine might be why Dionysus never _ever_ skips leg day.

Dionysus reaches back up, grabs one of Ares’ shoulders as Ares shoves the side of his face against Dionysus’ cheek again and _actually_ starts to rut, not like those aborted little half thrusts while Dionysus was still dozing. There’s claws pricking sharp into Dionysus’ stomach, his chest, those hands the only thing managing to keep Dionysus really in place, Ares growling and panting hard against his cheek. Each thrust is slick, hot, head of Ares’ dick peeking out then pulling back between Dionysus’ thighs, kind of hilarious actually, but Dionysus closes his eyes and mostly just hangs on while Ares fucks himself out between Dionysus’ thighs. Lets himself get kind of into it and lazily starts to rub himself off, too.

Starts mumbling at some point, which just gets Ares rocking harder against him, not even really pulling back all the way anymore--little _yes_ , little _perfect_ , little _that’s good, yeah, you’re good_. Just lazy praise spilling from his mouth because Ares loves that sort of thing and this is the only time of the month it doesn’t get him embarrassed, get him irritated and telling Dionysus to shut up and look, Dionysus _loves_ Ares and his refusal to take a compliment, but sometimes, sometimes, he just wants to tell Ares it’s all right, he’s all right, and not have Ares snarl.

Like now, as Ares’ hips twitch against Dionysus’ ass, bulb swelling between Dionysus’ thighs and come going _everywhere_ , and yeah, there’s the other reason Dionysus didn’t really feel up for trying to get Ares’ dick in him because again--it’s an _event_ and Dionysus needs to not need to go anywhere for awhile after.

Feels good, though. Gods, does it feel good.

It doesn’t take long for Dionysus to get off after that, thinking about maybe tomorrow, maybe the morning, listening to Ares whine when he squeezes his thighs. He slips his fingers through the mess, then reaches up, lets Ares lick and rub his snout all in it ‘cause Ares is all about those smells and tastes and marking, oh yes he is.

Ares licks the side of Dionysus’ face, absolutely disgusting. Dionysus laughs, pushes him away and squirms, just a bit, until Ares lets go. Gets up from the mess, because he wants to clean off before any of this dries and turns tacky and hell to get off. Tugs his sweats back up and looks down at Ares looking up at him, red eyes half-closed and very, very sated, dick flopped against his belly and still leaking.

“Gonna shower. You want in?” Dionysus asks; Ares’ ears flatten, nose wrinkling, and Dionysus laughs.

(Ares _won’t_ need a bath. He’ll clean himself up, thoroughly, which is certainly a thing to watch.)

But Dionysus _does_ need a shower and to try and get the stains out of these sweats; he leaves Ares in the nest in the corner and goes to get the shower going, nice and hot. There’s a couple scratch marks bleeding on his chest and stomach, and he’ll need to clean those, too, but it’s fine, really, nothing worth worrying about.

(There was once, and only once, Ares has ever _actually_ hurt Dionysus, and it was Dionysus’ fault. Dionysus got too cocky, tried to push when Ares was already _real_ snapping, and learned quick he had severely overestimated how much control he had over the situation.

Dionysus got a pretty cool set of scars out of it, actually, ragged and paler than the rest of his skin; went and got them tattooed in white ink later as a reminder to pay better attention, to _do better_ , because it wasn’t Dionysus who really suffered the lasting damage. Dionysus just had maybe a month or two he was a bit _weird_ about Ares’ height--which he made sure to get over real quick, because he loves when Ares comes up and rests his chin on Dionysus’ head to see what Dionysus is doing.

Ares still gets quiet sometimes, looking at the scars.

The tattoos glow under blacklight which is _honestly_ the coolest thing; Dionysus wishes that Ares would focus on that. It was Dionysus’ fault; it’s a mistake he hasn’t repeated yet, and he hopes he never does--not for his own sake, but because he’s not sure Ares would survive a repeat.)

Ares has cleaned himself off, moved to the kitchen and is _very_ noisily chugging water when Dionysus finally gets back out of the shower and changed into clothes he’s not going to be pissed if they get dirty or torn up. He’s still toweling his hair off; Ares leans up from the sink licking his mouth, which _come on_ , don’t drink from the faucet, there’s a fountain for a _reason._ Ares huffs, ears flicking back a bit displeased, sniffs the air to confirm that yes, Dionysus _did_ use soap, _no_ , Dionysus doesn’t really smell like him anymore.

(Sometimes, not often, Dionysus _does_ skip the showers; it makes Ares happy, even if Dionysus hates feeling gross.)

“Sorry, babe,” Dionysus tells him. He staggers a bit as Ares comes over to him and wraps him up in a hug, snuffing at Dionysus’ neck and then rubbing his face all over Dionysus _clean_ skin, getting fur all over him. Brat. Dionysus scratches the side of Ares’ head anyway, plops a kiss on that tuft of white at his forehead when Ares starts to pull back and up. “What ya feel like? A roam? Want me to put on a movie? Go hang out on the roof?”

Ares tosses his head, but that doesn’t mean much of anything except he’s thinking, slow wag of his tail as he turns options over, rests his chin on Dionysus’ head. Dionysus sighs, blows fur out of his mouth and turns his head a bit so at least he’s not suffocating.

Eventually Ares steps back, points up, and there, that’s a plan.

***

The rooftop patio was basically a must, one of the very first things Dionysus knew he wanted for the house when they started talking to architects about designs. Ares was less convinced, had mostly gone along with it because Dionysus insisted so strongly--he wasn’t even sold on the move out to the vineyards at all, really, beyond not needing to worry about noise complaints from neighbors anymore.

Ares grew up in the city; he grew up not really doing night runs or howls or any of that, kind of the way a lot of transhumans who grow up _only_ in cities don’t really have much connection with the old stuff. Cities are human spaces, top to bottom. Dionysus isn’t transhuman himself, though one of his great grandparents was and a couple of his friends _are_ \--though not werewolves--and he’d joined a couple groups for human-transhuman relationships mostly because…

If he’s honest, the kind that isn’t chill, the kind that’s the sort of thing that makes people freeze up and get uncomfortable, the worst kind of honesty, Dionysus just didn’t want to fuck things up. He’d fucked up plenty of things, fucking up is fine and good, relationships are built on fuckups until they turn into breakups, but there was that moment, what was it?

That chicken bone, the ER trip, right. God, that had been a hell of a date. Chicken bones shatter.

And that sort of just--became this thing between them. This little touchstone, the vulnerability of Dionysus sitting in the ER waiting room to find out if Ares was okay and Ares absolutely mortified Dionysus had stayed, _furious_ about it, and Dionysus realizing how painfully much he loved the big embarrassed idiot and that he didn’t, he really, really didn’t want to fuck this one up.

So when they started really talking _seriously_ about building a house out at the vineyards, right up against the woods, Dionysus had asked around for ideas. Pretty much every city-born werewolf who’d had a chance to spend a full moon out in the countryside agreed a rooftop or balcony or _somewhere_ high up to sit and watch the moon was great, was something that hadn’t even really known they were missing because gods, the laws on where werewolves can be when they’re, you know, _wolves_ are pretty strict in city limits.

Dionysus has never told Ares _I told you so_ about the roof, because it wasn’t really his idea, because it’s not like Ares really had any way to know, because it would just be a shitty thing to do.

He just sits up there with Ares, under the stars and the bright glow of the moon. It’s autumn right now, so definitely laying on Ares in the hammock for warmth, Ares’ arms around him like a living furry furnace, checking the emails he's missed on his phone while Ares just lays quiet, looking at the stars, the moon.

Dionysus has no idea what Ares is thinking, but he imagines it’s something kind of like peace.

Sometimes Dionysus doesn’t sit up with him; sometimes he stays inside, especially in winter, and he’ll listen as Ares howls the way he really never got to growing up in the city which is why, really, Dionysus tries to stay cool about Ares making noise. Tries not to tell him to shut up, even when he wants to, even when, yes, that stupid doorbell rings and Ares' wolf brain loses its shit over strangers at the door.

Dionysus isn’t sure how long they stay up there; he knows he dozes off at some point because it’s warm and comfortable and just… safe, yeah, that’s the word. Safe. Dionysus doesn’t need safe or saving, not really, but it’s still comforting. A lot of things with Ares are.

(Like Ares' blind faith all those years ago Dionysus would end up the shape he needed to be, more certain than Dionysus ever felt those first few months of transition, feeling an imposter more days than not, projecting cheer and laughter and size he didn't quite fit yet. Ares knows all about changing shapes, though, doesn't he?)

Dionysus doesn’t need safe, saving, doesn’t _need_ someone and never did, always felt better with that on and off flow, but gods is it nice to have somewhere to rest sometimes. Someone to rest with. To just be, not needing to project all that lazy strength so people remember him bigger than he is.

It’s shitty, but he’s glad Ares shattered that chicken bone and Dionysus had to take him to the ER; Dionysus isn’t sure he would have managed to realize just how much Ares’ warmth at his back and chin resting on his head meant to him before it was too late otherwise.

(Not sure he would have realized without Ares how badly he needed to change shape, either.)

***

Dionysus wakes up hungry and thirsty both because it’s late, hammock swaying just a bit. He doesn’t really want to move, but he also doesn’t really want to starve, either.

“Let me up, babe,” he says, reaches up to pat Ares’ face. Ares unwraps his arms, lets Dionysus climb up. “Need some food. You want anything?”

Ares blinks at him, looks back up at the sky. Dionysus takes the chance to just run a hand down Ares’ chest, his stomach, push up against the fur, smooth it back down again. Rubs slow until Ares finally huffs and rolls off the hammock, slouches a shadow after Dionysus back inside.

Ares brings Dionysus the brush while Dionysus eats a sandwich and drinks juice straight from the carton, rests belly down and relaxed in the blankets and pillows while Dionysus brushes out all that fur starting to streak just a little silver when the light hits it right. It takes _ages_ to brush Ares out--Dionysus doesn’t think he’s ever actually managed to get all of him--but Dionysus doesn’t really mind.

It’s good, this.

He'll need to reply to a few of the vineyard's emails later, need to actually go do a workout, need to grab more food from the freezer and see about the tours scheduled for next week; they can wait until Ares is sleeping or goes off to lope in the woods a while.

For right now, he just runs brush through fur, rests half against Ares' mass and warmth, and lets himself be.

***

Ares’ change doesn’t always last three days; sometimes it’s a little more, sometimes a little less.

Ares falls asleep while Dionysus is brushing him; Dionysus leaves to do some of what needs doing since he’s not particularly tired--sleeping all afternoon has a way of doing that.

He comes by later and there’s no fur, just deep dark skin and hair gone gray, hands that don’t end in claws.

“Hey, babe,” Dionysus says, crouches down and brushes hair back from Ares’ face. Ares’ eyes slide open slow, barely at all really, just a sliver of red. “Let’s get you to the bed.”

It’s half a trick, pushing and prodding until Ares gets annoyed enough to get up, stagger that short distance from the living room to the bedroom. Ares plants face first into the bed; it takes some tugging to get the blanket from under him, tuck him in. Dionysus smooths hair down, presses a kiss to his temple, and leaves him to sleep.

Changes are exhausting; Ares’ll likely sleep most the day.

Dionysus joins later, once the emails are sent, workout done, breakfast eaten, just crawls right into bed and pulls one of Ares’ arms over his waist. Ares doesn’t quite wake, but his grip tightens, face presses into Dionysus’ hair and yeah, that’s good. Ares isn’t as warm like this, but there’s the blanket, and Dionysus can still shove cold feet against Ares for warmth.

Shame that maybe morning will have to be maybe next month.

The sun’s starting to crest the horizon; a bit of that yellow glow is warming the edge of the curtains, warming the shadows in the room. He’s comfortable, held close, and he laces his fingers with Ares’, closes his eyes, and settles in to sleep.

Just as long as there aren’t any doorbells, they’ve got all day to rest.

**Author's Note:**

> now that i did all the emotional heavy lifting i will be free to turn this into a series and just have absolute nonsense fluff and one day write the porn i know half you came here for. imagine: ares' wolf brain vs mirrors. i need to do that. 
> 
> if u enjoyed this, i'd love to know even if it's just a keysmash!!


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